


Puppy Love

by mybelovedcheshire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, vomiting rainbows at how fluffy this is JSYK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/pseuds/mybelovedcheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iain and Greg have been dating for ages, and although Iain spends most of his free time at Greg's house (and in his bed), they've never really discussed moving in together -- until now, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Love

It wasn’t until nearly a week later that Iain thought to bring up the subject of moving in again. He was nervous. He was genuinely nervous because no amount of puppylove could overcome years upon years of commitment phobia -- as much as he would have appreciated it. 

He wanted to move in with Greg; he knew that. He even wanted to stay in Greg’s little flat because frankly, he had no personal attachment to his own, and Greg’s was just so-- … Greg. Every facet oozed with some aspect of his personality, and Iain wasn’t willing to trade that for anything.

Not even for a bigger bed, as nice as that would have been.

Not that he wasn’t quite pleased with the size of Greg’s bed as it was.

Iain cleared his throat and walked into the sitting room. Greg glanced over his shoulder. He had his feet up, a beer in one hand, and was indulging in one of his favourite past times -- really, really bad telly.

“Finish that file?” He asked, turning his head back to the screen. Iain took a deep breath -- damn those fucking butterflies. (Greg’s presence in his life had also altered his vocabulary. For the better, the older man had argued -- but Iain knew his mother would’ve been horrified.) 

He moved around the end of the couch and sat down.

Or rather, he perched on the edge like a squirrel ready to sprint up the side of a tree at a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately -- or maybe fortunately? He honestly didn’t know at that point. Greg wasn’t the sort of person who missed that kind of thing. For one, usually Iain sprawled out across the couch with his head in Greg’s lap. For two, Iain was wringing his hands like a mother at her child’s first dance recital. 

“Everything alright?” Greg asked casually. 

Iain opened his mouth -- and promptly closed it again.

Greg put his drink down on the coffee table, switched off the telly, and shifted to face him. “Tell me what’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question or an invitation so much as a gentle demand.

Iain stood up abruptly. 

But Greg knew him too well -- he reached out, caught Iain’s hand, and dragged him back down onto the sofa, pinning him there. The younger detective protested weakly -- but he was grateful, because he honestly didn’t want to resist. 

“Now are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to get it out of you?” Greg asked with a smile. It was one of those smiles, too -- the kind that made you fall in love, while worrying about your personal safety. Iain made a face. Greg shifted, stretching out on top of him so that Iain didn’t have a chance in hell of escaping. “Out with it, love.” 

A painful feeling welled up in Iain’s stomach -- and it wasn’t something an antacid could cure. Alright so, maybe an antacid would help -- but they were well out of reach, and there was no way Greg was going to let him up just for that. He’d see right through it, even if it wasn’t really a charade. 

Greg folded his arms over Iain’s chest and rested his chin against them as he stared Iain down. As far as he was concerned, he had all the time in the world, and he was more than willing to wait the younger man out.

Sensing that he was coming to the end of the battle (and losing badly), Iain took a short breath. He’d have taken a deep one, but there was a heavy weight on top of him being a menace and impeding that particular function. 

“What if...,” he began slowly.

Greg said nothing.

Iain closed his eyes. “What if I did move in?” 

He didn’t see the way Greg smiled -- the way his face lit up with delight at the prospect. And Greg, fully aware of it, happily took advantage. In a stern voice, he replied: “Why would you do that?”

Iain felt like whimpering. “Don’t know, it--” He swallowed hard. “It seemed like a good idea last week.”

And as much as he loved to tease, Greg felt a sense of guilt at the anguish sweeping across his perfect, handsome love’s face. “Iain,” he murmured. “Look at me.” 

Iain opened one eye and peeked up at him. 

“I honestly thought you’d already moved in months ago.”

Both eyes shut tightly again. “No-- I know I’ve been here a lot--” 

“You’ve only spent two nights at your place since you got back from your last assignment.” 

Iain could feel the heat rushing into his face. “I’m sorry, I--”

“You just want more closet space.”

He opened both eyes wide. “...what?” 

“That’s fine. It’s small, but I could move my football kit, I guess. Keep it in the hall cupboard.”

“Greg!” 

The grey-haired man looked down, smiling wide again. “Yes, I want you to ‘move in’ with me.” Iain met his eyes and melted in the warmth radiating out of his expression. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Greg repeated softly. “And you can bring as much your stuff as you like.”

Iain made a face. “I’m honoured.” 

“Good. You should be.” 

Iain rolled his eyes, but he noticed as Greg laughed that all of his concern and worry had vanished. The only weight on his chest was the idiot that he loved -- and nothing made him happier than that.


End file.
